


Hazy Days In June

by NimWallace



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Short One Shot, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 06:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimWallace/pseuds/NimWallace
Summary: Holmes is tired of seeing through people.





	Hazy Days In June

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Туманный день в июне](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16153286) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



Hazy days in June are often presented as enjoyable, when they are, in fact, the epitome of monotonous existence.   
The slow, dull spiral of dust from the window trailed across the rug and past the tobacco-filled Persian slippers.   
Sunshine spotted the two worn armchairs and spilled over desk drawers full of case notes and empty needles.   
The notes of a violin filled the room.   
But, as ever, hazy days in June are not what they seem. There were things much darker than a rarely sunny day just around the corner.   
Holmes peered over Baker Street, at the passing civilians of London. A women with three children at home. A retired shoemaker. A man traveling to Ireland.   
He could see the outside of people on a hazy day in June, but he could also see the inside. A widow. A dying man. A grieving husband.   
With a sigh, he stopped playing and gently put the instrument aside.   
“Something wrong, Holmes?”   
Holmes tried for a smile, but it didn't come out quite right.   
“Do you like sunny days, Watson?”   
“What an odd question.”   
Watson put down the paper. “I suppose I do like them,” he said. “Why?”  
“I like rain better.”   
Watson smiled.   
“You always did like honesty, Holmes.” He crossed the room to put a firm hand on his friends arm. “Something is bothering you.”   
Holmes looked down. He could smell the tobacco from Watson's pipe.   
“I am sick of seeing things,” he whispered. “I am sick of seeing other people suffering. It's all I ever see, Watson.”   
“Oh Sherlock.”  
He wrapped him tightly in his arms. Holmes leaned into him, breaths coming out in shudders. He felt very suddenly small.   
“I cannot stop,” he said shakily. “Whenever I see someone, it is an instant instinct. I have already deduced three fatal illnesses and five grieving family members, just from watching out our window today. I feel cursed.”   
Watson let him go, gently reaching out to wipe a tear from his face, then strode over to the window. He closed the curtains.   
“Don't watch anymore,” he said softly. “Holmes, look at me.”   
He looked up. Watson's face was full of concern, eyebrows pinched and lips in a tight line. He had bags under his eyes from adventure after adventure. But he smiled.   
“ _We_ are _okay_ ,” he said. “We are happy here. That is all we can worry about. You help so many people, Sherlock. You've stopped so many tragedies.” Another tear rolled down Holmes's cheek. Watson wiped it away. “Don't cry, love.”  
“John, you are, as ever, unconditionally kind to me,” Holmes whispered. “Thank you.”   
“Of course. No more people watching today. Tomorrow, someone will coming knocking at our door with another grievance, and you will help them, as you always do. For now, why don't we stay in tonight?”   


 


End file.
